Letting Go
by Ludi
Summary: Gambit returns after a few months away to find Rogue with a certain silverhaired man. Takes place before 'Rogue Psychology' & '24 Hours'. Language, AU, IC.


Letting Go 

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**Note:- **Since some people wanted to know what the whole Destiny saga was about I decided to add this fic in, which explains things a bit.  Basically, after Destiny died, she discovered she was an X-Ternal, and managed to extricate herself from Time.  For some reason she's interested in seven mutants – old Charlie Xavier, Jean Grey, Bishop, Rogue, Gambit, Cable and Havok.  But that's something I haven't written about yet…

For those of you who want to know what happened to make Rems so mad in 'Rogue Psychology', the guy got dumped.  Several times.  Plus he had a really (and I mean _really_) horrible revelation.  Poor Remy.  I guess I could post up the whole precursor to 'Rogue Psychology' but it's unfinished yet.  Maybe I'll finish it if you guys want it.  And as to the conclusion of 'Rogue Psychology', well it's too damn X-rated (no pun intended), so if you do want to read that kinda stuff, I'll probably post it somewhere else.

Rant over, enjoy the fic! J

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            Gambit had returned.

            Brought in by X-Trinsic, the X-Men's interim, time-jaunting, space-travelling team of mutants, leaning heavily on Havok's shoulder, Ororo thought that he seemed worse for wear physically, yet as bright and perky as ever on the outside, despite what injuries he had sustained.  It was with relief that she went to greet him, putting her arms round the Cajun thief and hugging him with genuine warmth.

            "Remy!"

            "Careful, Stormy," he grinned, knowing that he was annoying her with his use of that infernal pet name of his, but knowing he'd get away with it – as he always did. "Dis t'ief's still got a few broken bones from his latest escapade."

            She pulled back, loosening her grasp. "It is good to see you again, my friend," she smiled at him affectionately. "However grievous your wounds are.  I cannot tell you how much it gladdens my heart to see how alive and well."

            "Likewise – although I dunno 'bout de well part," he grunted.

            "Where was he?" she asked, turning to Bishop.

            "That's just the thing – we don't know exactly," Bishop replied grimly. "Somewhere in the Timestream, in a place that seemed separate from the temporal whole – another mini-nexus, to be exact."

            "Like the Otherworld and the Starlight Citadel?" Ororo replied, frowning.

            "We can only assume so," the larger man answered.

            "But surely Roma had nothing to do with this…" Ororo spoke, confused, but Havok interrupted her.

            "No, Roma had nothing to do with it.  Which leaves only one other person – Destiny.  She's the only other being who could exert such control over the Timestream." He paused, glowering darkly. "It's all turning out as I knew it would.  I thought here and now I'd have a chance to stop Destiny in her tracks, but still…now I'm not so sure."

            "Fine, fine," Gambit interrupted irritably. "But what de fuck Destiny want wit' me?"

            "Don't _you know?" Ororo asked him._

            "Shit, 'Ro, if only I did," he sighed. "All she kept on askin' me was whether I wanted to help her.  It took all de will I could muster to shake her off.  Seems dat Irene can be very…persuasive." He stopped, his expression darkening. "Dat woman played wit' my mind big time, but she gave me no clue as t' why she be wantin' my so-called help.  I guess she figured she could control my mind instead."

            "Yeah, but what makes _you_ so important?" Boom-Boom spoke up, arms crossed. "Far as I know, all you're good for is leapin' about and getting laid."

            Gambit only grinned over at her charmingly. "Dat an invite, Tabitha?"

            "Go screw _yerself, gumbo!" she scowled at him, showing him the finger.  All right, Ororo thought humorously – no love lost there._

            "Well, whatever the truth of the matter, this will have to be brought to the Professor's attention," she began instead. "He, Sage and Cypher are the only one's that have any tangible information on Destiny – apart from yourself, of course, Alex.  Maybe they might be able to shed some light on the matter."

            "Where is the Professor?" Bishop asked.

            "He and Scott have taken Jean to Muir Island for treatment," Ororo replied. "But they're scheduled to return this afternoon."

            "Jean's still having trouble with the Phoenix Force?" Havok suddenly spoke up, the concern showing deep in his voice.

            "Yes," Ororo nodded. "We're doing the best we can for her, but nothing seems to be working so far.  Both Emma Frost and Fontanelle attempted a mind scrape, but were mentally forced out.  Charles though a gentler approach with Moira might work, but it seems there's been no progress there either."

            "Sounds like I've been missin' out on all de fun," Gambit commented wryly, but there was no humour in his voice.

            "There is a lot we must discuss," Ororo nodded slowly, "Both troubling and light-hearted." She broke into a smile. "It is good to have you back, Remy."

            "I tell you one t'ing, 'Ro," he replied solemnly, "It's good t' _be back."_

            Gambit was immediately taken to the infirmary to be patched up by the Beast, while Storm brought X-Trinsic up to date.  It had been a long while since she had seen Bishop and the others – almost as long as the time since she had last seen Gambit.  Being of a transitory nature, and due to their far-flung missions, X-Trinsic did not often keep direct contact with the core team of X-Men based at the Westchester Mansion.  Yet, ironically, it was their work that was the most valuable.  Their mission was to tackle Destiny's growing hold over the Timestream, and to protect other worlds – as well as the Otherworld where Roma ruled and guarded all of Time – from Destiny's influence.  As it turned out, it was more of a briefing for Storm than it was for X-Trinsic, and it was a while before the meeting was over.  An hour later, she was free to check up on her old friend, Gambit, and not without a sense of trepidation.

            He was still in the infirmary resting, but looking more harassed for it.  Remy had never been one for staying in bed, being made a fuss of, or pleading illness.  Now, confined to bed by the Beast until his wounds were on the mend, he looked like a caged animal.  Storm had to consciously stop herself from laughing as she saw him lying in bed with a look of chagrin on his face, reading a dirty magazine with one leg sticking out from under the covers.  As he saw Storm entering he threw her a winning smile, quickly tucking the magazine under his pillow but not before she had seen it.

            "Stormy!  And to what do I owe de pleasure?"

            She thought – or detected rather – that he actually looked rather disappointed that it was she who had come to visit him.  At least just a little.

            "Can't a friend check up on an ill one?" she smiled.

            "Not ill, Stormy," he shook his head. "Bruises and broken ribs, t' be exact.  But dere you go.  Looks like dis good-for-nothin' X-Man be bedridden." He sighed dramatically.

            "You could be worse off," she commented dryly, pulling the magazine out from under the pillow to peruse the front cover. "_Penthouse_?" She raised an eyebrow at him.

            "Rogue would be mad, non?" he half-joked, but Storm easily caught his undertone.

            "Maybe," she answered evasively, putting the magazine onto his lap, knowing what was going to come next.

            "Where is she, Stormy?" he asked, his voice suddenly without mirth. "Practic'ly everyone else who cares has been up here.  She on a mission?"

            "No," Storm replied shortly, hearing the current of longing in his tone.  She had known it would fall to her to explain to him what she now so dreaded – that Rogue was now with Joseph, otherwise known as the Chronotrigger, a man whose status as friend or foe had never quite been resolved.  It had been no secret that Rogue and Gambit had been passionately in-love, and for all intents and purposes probably still were.  Storm though, was the only person who knew exactly how deep their love – and their relationship – had run.  Remy had never made those feelings known to anyone in so many words, but Ororo had known him well enough to know that he loved the woman more than he cared to admit.  And as for Rogue – well, Rogue had needed someone to confide in, and Storm had been there for her.

            It was a complicated matter.  During the very same mission that Gambit had been abducted by Destiny, Rogue's powers had been forcibly 'shut-off' by the Savants.  It was an event that had severely traumatized Rogue, who had been unable to control the sudden surge of psyches that had began to bubble to the surface of her mind.  It was a time when, understandably, she had needed Remy more than at any other.  But he had not been there for her, and she had had to face her ordeal alone.

            It was Ororo that had taken his place, comforting Rogue even though she knew she could not, and eventually listening to all Rogue's heartfelt outpourings.  For the first time Storm had come to realize just how much Remy had meant to Rogue, and of what they had shared.  Rogue had loved, needed, depended on him.  His absence had wounded her more than the loss of the powers and her inability to control the ghosts in her head.  In a tragic twist of fate, it had been Joseph, the X-Men's enemy, who had come to Rogue's aid, nursing her, nurturing her, restoring her to both physical and mental strength.  Ororo had not doubted that Joseph loved Rogue, and that his intentions had been noble.  But it had been too late before she had noticed the colour on Rogue's cheeks when Joseph came to visit her, the smiles, the laughter, the way she looked at him.  She had witnessed Rogue's growing affection for the man that had aided her, and she had been unable to stop it.  Even if she had wanted to do so, even if she had taken her dear friend Remy's feelings into account, she would not have stopped the budding relationship.  It was clear to her that Rogue needed and cared for Joseph, and that Joseph truly loved Rogue.

            And now, as she sat here with Remy, Storm felt the guilt she had known to be inevitable course through her.  She was caught between two dear friends, and could not resolve either loyalty.  The only logical thing would be to tell Remy the truth.  She could do no more.  The two of them were adults.  Unfortunate as it was, they would have to sort it out themselves.

            Yet still she hesitated.  Remy saw her look, and even in that moment something cold fell over him.

            "'Ro, has somethin' happened to Rogue?" he asked, sudden concern in his voice.

            "In a manner of speaking," Ororo began slowly.

            "Merde! 'Ro, you gotta tell me!"

            "Remy, it's not what you're thinking.  Not at all." She paused. "Rogue…has lost her powers.  She lost them in the same battle that you disappeared in.  She was…very traumatized."

            "Mon Dieu, Storm, is she okay?"

            "She is…fine, Remy."

            "T'ank de Lord!" he exclaimed in relief. "I t'ought you were gonna say she was dyin' or somethin'."

            "Remy," Storm began again morosely. "There's something I have to tell you.  It's important."

            He caught the seriousness of her tone, and once more the colour drained from his face.  But when next he spoke, he was quiet.

            "What is it?"

            "Rogue…She is in a…relationship with someone.  Someone who helped her when she was terribly wounded.  He helped bring her back to her normal self." She halted, seeing the spirit go out of his expression. "Remy," she began again urgently, "please don't be angry.  I'm not asking this for my benefit, but for Rogue's.  She is…she is _happy_, Remy.  Please don't spoil things for her, I beg you.  It would not take a lot to injure her again."

            He was silent for a moment, looking down into his lap.

            "I shouldn' have come back," he murmured at last.

            "No!" Ororo reached out took his hand and squeezed it tightly. "Don't speak like that Remy!  You know we all need you here.  You are one of us.  You are our _friend.  We…We are __here for you."_

            "It doesn't matter," he continued, his voice hard. "Not without her.  She's the only reason I would've come back." He looked up at her, his red eyes glinting. "Don't you get it, 'Ro?!"

            "I understand," she answered sadly. "You love her.  And what you shared was something special, believe me."

            He laughed mirthlessly. "Special, yeah, right.  Special enough for her to leave me for another man!"

            "It wasn't like that!"

            He did not answer for a moment, lying back against the pillows, his eyes dull so that suddenly she was frightened.

            "Remy…?"

            "'Ro," he interrupted, his voice low. "I need to be alone.  Please, can you go?"

            She nodded, getting up.  Why did she feel so guilty?

            "You know I am here for you," she said, but he did not reply, did not even look at her.  It was only when she went for the door and was about to leave that she stopped her.

            "'Ro?"

            "Yes, Remy?"

            "Tell me who he is."

            She hesitated.  But she had no choice but to tell him.  She at least owed him that.

            "Joseph."

            He said nothing more.

            Turning her head away, Storm quietly slid out of the room.

*

            Rogue was in a quandary.

            It had hardly escaped her notice that Gambit was back in the mansion, what with all the fuss going on about his kidnap at the hands of Destiny.  Her dilemma was an obvious one.  If she went to see Gambit she ran the risk of arguments, rows and painfully needless accusations.  On the other hand if she didn't go she also ran the risk of coming across as heartless.  Gambit was, after all, at the very least a friend, and he had been injured and in dire need of her sympathy.  Nevertheless, she decided, it was pointless to rile up any further angst between them and make his situation worse.

            Still, that did not cure the horrible guilt within her.  She knew – from Ororo – that Gambit had discovered her relationship with Joseph.  She felt entirely responsible for the pain she knew must be eating him up inside.  Nothing she had done had been contrived to hurt him.  Things between her and Joe had simply happened, a natural progression of their mutual feelings for one another.  She had not consciously meant for it to happen.  Remy had simply not been there for her.  If he had been, things would perhaps have turned out differently for them.

            But she couldn't just leave him there in the infirmary, brooding.  Not after everything they had been through together.

            The obvious solution was to visit him when he wouldn't be awake.  Cowardly, she knew, but also practical.  The last thing he needed was a quarrel with her, especially in his condition.  And so she slipped into the infirmary at midnight, wary.  She knew Remy was a late-nighter, even if he _was_ bedridden.  Most likely he would be up playing cards – solitaire.  She felt a strange twinge of guilt inside her.  How appropriate.

            Softly she tapped on the door, not wanting to go inside unless she knew Remy was asleep.  After a moment the Beast opened the door, looking tired from his late-night endeavours, but his usual jovial self.

            "Rogue!" he grinned; then the smile dropped. "Here to see the patient?"

            "Is he…asleep?" she asked quietly, placing herself discreetly just out of the doorframe – just incase he _did_ happen to be awake.

            "Sleeping like the proverbial baby," Hank smiled. "When babies _are sleeping, that is.  He put up a fight though, when I said it was lights out for him.  I really don't think he __wants to recover."_

            She frowned, feeling somehow responsible.  Hank saw the look and held the door open wider for her. "Won't you come in?"

            Rogue slid into the room without a word, her heart suddenly racing.  Remy was in the furthest bed, his face clouded, troubled in sleep.  A breathlessness took her – she was not able to help it.  The last time she had seen him sleeping, she had touched his face and kissed it, not wanting to let go…She clasped her fists tight, swallowed, went to the bedside suddenly quivering within.  That face, and suddenly everything seemed to upheave itself of its own accord, and nothing was simple anymore.  Gently she reached out to touch his cheek, but her resolve faltered; instead her hand dropped to the covers and remained there.

            "How is he?" she asked at last in a whisper.

            "Not as bad as you might think," Hank replied in an undertone. "Our cajun friend heals quickly – part of the constant ambient bio-kinetic aura he generates, I suspect.  I _was_ planning to discharge him tomorrow, as a matter of fact."

            "He'll be glad of that," she half-smiled.

            "That he will," Hank grinned.

            Rogue sighed, finally finding the courage to reach out and smooth the back of her hand against his cheek, recalling the shape of that roughly hewn face, the texture of his skin and the stubble on his cheek, his warmth.  Suddenly afraid she drew her hand away, taking in a deep breath and exhaling shakily.  She couldn't do this to herself.  Not here, not now.  Forcing a smile onto her face she took a step back from the bed, looked back at Hank.

            "Ah should be gettin' back…Joe'll be wonderin' where ah've got to."

            There was a sympathetic expression on Hank's face as he returned her look.

            "He probably will."

            Rogue smiled again, edged herself away from the bed, walked quickly towards the door, stopped when she got to it.

            "Thanks for lettin' me take a look in, Hank."

            "My pleasure, Rogue."

            She turned, then thought better of it.

            "Oh, an' Hank?"

            "Yes, my dear?"

            "Could you…Do you think, when he wakes…Could you please tell him that ah came by?"

            "I'll do that," he nodded.

            "Thanks."

            Taking one last look at the sleeping patient, she quietly pulled the door to and left.

*

            "Sorry, docteur, by I ain't stayin' another day in dis place!  Jus' lookin' at dese white walls gives me de heebie-jeebies!"

            Hank sighed at the indignant form of Gambit, somehow fully costumed again, hemmed in by the side of the bed looking like a caged animal.

            "Gambit.  Listen to me.  This is _not_ a good idea.  I admit – I _was going to discharge you today.  But taking into consideration recent – uh – developments, I think it wise that you spend a couple more days resting."_

            "Uh-uh, no way!" Remy insisted, his expression hunted. "Dis cajun's fine now, fit as de fiddle!  He wants to rest, he can rest in his _own_ room, in his _own bed, an' not in dis asylum.  'Sides, I have business to 'tend to."_

            "That is precisely what worries me, my friend," Hank replied, crossing his arms firmly. "And I tell you now that going to see Rogue is _not a good idea.  At __least let it wait a few days until you've had the chance to calm down."_

            "Who said anything about Rogue?" Remy answered hotly.

            " 'And Love did not deem it enough that she was hidden in the recesses of two noble hearts: for she meant to show her power in their faces'," Hank quoted with a sigh. "_Tristan and Isolde.  You didn't have to mention her, Remy.  She's written all over you."_

            "Save your sentimental quotes, Beast," Remy replied, jabbing the doctor in the chest with a forefinger. "I ain't dis Tristan loser, an' I don' care 'bout him, _or his girlfriend.  Only t'ing dat matters to me right now is Rogue.  So what if I wanna talk to her?"_

            "Gambit," Hank replied patiently, "Now is not a good time to talk to Rogue.  You'll only end up hurting the girl, not to mention yourself.  You're behaving like a spoiled child.  I'm beginning to regret that I even mentioned her visiting you."

            There was a dangerous gleam in Gambit's eyes as he met Hank's gaze.

            "Are you gonna let me pass or not?"

            Hank sighed again, throwing up his hands theatrically. 

            "Fine, fine!  Just don't blame me for the inevitable tragedy you shall have on your hands!"

            He stepped aside, and Remy swept past him, eyes flashing.

            "You don' need to worry 'bout dat, Beast," he muttered darkly. "I know _exactly who I'm gonna blame…"_

            Remy strode through the corridors of the mansion, a grim look of determination on his face.  He did not know what it was that he walked to – neither did he particularly care.  The sense of injustice within had flooded him, blinded him, drowned him.  His rage was as intense as his love for Rogue.  Neither would be freed until he spoke to her, until he understood _why she had done what she had done to him.  He could not believe that she could have so quickly forgotten about him, set aside what they had shared and run into the arms of another man.  The fact that she had visited him the night before showed that she had had some form of conscience, perhaps even some sort of regret.  And if that were so then perhaps he might be able to win her back…_

            He shook his head, hating himself for knowing the truth.  He would not be able to.  He had always known she could not trust him, could never fully give herself to him because of his past.  He did not deserve her, he never had.  And he had not been there for her when she needed him most.  It had not been his fault.  But the damage had already been done.  That fact he could cope with.  That, he could understand.  But to hook up with Joseph, the Savant's Chronotrigger, their enemy…That was the greatest betrayal.  That was something he could not forgive.

            Remy stopped outside the room he knew Rogue and Joseph were sharing.  For a moment he paused, unable to bring himself to enter, wanting to retch.  But the anger surged up within him again, forcing away his doubt.  Raising a fist he pounded on the door, before crashing in, not even waiting for an answer.

            He almost ran headlong into Joseph, who'd obviously been going to open the door.  The two men stopped, inches from one another.  Joseph's face was shocked, yet knowing; quiet, wary.  Remy glared at him, the rage flaring up in him, his fists twitching.  No good, he thought to himself, consciously forcing his arms to remain by his side.  He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction of knocking his bloody daylights out.  Not _yet_ anyway.

            "Where's Rogue?" he growled, scanning the otherwise empty room.

            "She's not here," Joseph replied evenly. "And even if she was she wouldn't want to speak to you."

            "Oh, so you're speakin' for de fille now," Remy threw back at him with a short laugh. "I always thought she was big girl who could her own decisions.  But never mind.  Since she ain't here, I guess dat means dat you an' I can have a little chat."

            "There's nothing for us to talk about," Joseph glowered.

            "On de contrary, dere's plenty," Remy replied, curling his fingers tight into his palms. "Like why you stole my girl, for instance?"

            "I didn't see you around to make a claim on her," Joseph replied hotly.

            "Dat wasn' my fault!" Remy spat back. " 'Case y' didn' know, I was havin' a fun time bein' tortured somewhere in de middle of nowhen, t'inkin' dat nothin' could possibly get worse den dat!  Well, looks like I was wrong, doesn't it, mon ami!"

            "You think it was my fault that Rogue wanted _me_?!"

            That did it.  The idea that Rogue had not been forced kicking and screaming into the relationship was more than he could bear.  Remy's fist connected with a sickening crack against Joseph's face, sending the man reeling back onto the floor, blood oozing freely from his nose.  Even before Joseph could recollect his wits Remy was upon him, grasping him by the collar, pulling him up into a sitting position, shaking him violently.

            "De _fuck you say?!  Dat Rogue'd leave me?!  Of her own _free will_?!  _Bullshit_!"_

            "It's the truth," Joseph spluttered, meeting Remy's enraged gaze without fear. "What, you think I had to force her to sleep with me?  Brainwash her?  You'd like that, wouldn't you?  You think you're so damned hot that no woman could ever want anyone but you!  You just can't admit that you've never been able to hold onto anyone you've loved for more than one pathetic night!"

            The bastard was really asking for it, so Remy hit him again.  This time Joseph lolled backward, dazed, but resurfaced, not wanting to give his adversary the satisfaction of seeing him down for long.

            "She was _my woman!" Remy screamed._

            "She's _not your property!" Joseph shouted back, and this time there was only rage, no jibing, no goading in his words. "Her life is hers alone, her decisions are _hers_ to make!  Why can't you accept the fact that she came to me willingly, of her own free will?  Do you think Rogue would let _anyone_ make her choices for her?!  Give her some credit!  Or is that too much for you to handle?!  How can you swear that you love her, when you can't even treat her as her own human being?!"_

            At the words a wild powerlessness flooded Remy, and sudden tears stung his eyelids, so that his grip loosened and the brutal purpose was knocked out of him.  No, no, he thought rabidly, it's not _possible, Rogue wouldn't, __couldn't do dis to me…!  Why, when I tried to give her everythin' I had, every ounce of what I possessed…?_

            "I _do!" he suddenly cried, helpless. "I __do love her!"_

            "So do _I!" Joseph roared back.  And then it all went, everything.  For a moment Remy stared at him, and was sickened and awestruck to see it in Joseph's eyes, the thing he saw when he looked in the mirror and thought of her, the thing he had always thought belonged to him and him alone.  He saw Joseph's love in his eyes – he saw his own love in Joseph's eyes.  A wave of nausea came over him, and suddenly the uniqueness of his devotion to the woman he loved was only a pile of so many shattered shards of glass on the floor.  Never had anything so horrified him, so completely undone him.  Releasing his grip he let go of the other man, standing on suddenly weakened legs, his head whirling._

            He believed Joseph.

            He hated him, but he believed him.

            He hated himself.

            But suddenly everything seemed clear to him.

            "You're right," he said at last, his voice thick with bile. "She isn't mine.  I never owned her in de first place."

            He paused, turning away, stilling himself, calming himself for what he was about to do.  Joseph sat up again slowly, swiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand before standing, leaning heavily against the nearby windowsill, his stance guarded.  After a moment Remy swivelled round, looked at him, his red eyes dull – and this time there was no malice in his gaze.

            "Even if she _had _been mine, it would never have been for me to tell her what's right for her an' what's wrong.  She chose you.  If she t'inks you're de right one for her, how can I argue wit' dat?  S'her life."

            "Yes," Joseph spoke up quietly yet firmly, standing straighter. "It is."

            Remy looked up at him again, his eyes suddenly gleaming – but not with animosity.

            "You're a lucky man, Joseph," he said at last. "An' b'fore I leave, dere's somethin' I want t' ask of you.  You treat dat girl right, y' hear me?  Treat her right an' make her happy.  Dat way, nothin' I went through for her will be in vain.  I want her t' know dat whatever decision she made, it was de right one.  Promise me you'll take care of her."

            "You don't need to ask for it," the other replied firmly.  Remy knew.  He knew already.  He almost envied the man for speaking with more conviction than he ever could have done.  It pained him to realize that he was making the right decision.  He had nothing to offer Rogue.  Joseph had everything.  Stability, consideration, patience, gentleness, trust, love.  Rogue needed nothing more than what she had already.

            And so he left, not because it was any easier for him, but because it was easier for her.  Because she deserved no less, because now it was the only thing he could give her.  There was no resentment in that.  There was no regret in doing her no further harm.

            He left the mansion without really thinking about it, walked out the front door with no particular destination in mind.  A light rain had sprung over the grounds, and he stopped as she reached the middle of the driveway, raising his head to meet the moist freshness of the world.  Another day, another way.  Another deviation on the road of life.  Which road to take, he thought?  For once, it didn't really matter anymore.

            "Remy!"

            He heard her voice, turned.  She was running out onto the driveway after him, and for a moment he wondered why she would run, why she would call, why any of it could possibly matter.  Was it arrogant, to hope that she might be running back to him?  To believe that there _was_ still hope?

            She stopped a little way away from him, suddenly uncertain, not knowing what to say.  For a long while they remained silent, and he dug his hands into his pockets, a wry smile curving on his lips.

            "Hi, Roguey.  Long time no see."

            "Where are you goin'?" she asked at last.

            "I dunno," he replied candidly. "Away."

            "Why?" Her brow was furrowed.  It was almost attractive. "You only just got back!  We…we _need_ you here!  You can't just up and leave, so soon after everythin' that happened with Irene!"

            Irene?  Why did she still insist on calling that maniac Irene?

            "Dere's nothin' for me here, chere. You know how it is wit' me.  No one can trust me.  I only end up gettin' in de way. What's de point in stayin'? "

            He made as if to turn, unable to carry on looking at her; but she took his arm, clutching on fiercely.

            "Remy, you can't go!" she cried.

            "Why?"

            "Because ah…_ah_ need you!"

            He looked down at her face, unable to keep the surprise from his voice.

            "_You do?  Why?"_

            "Because you're my friend.  An' ah don't want t' see you walk away again.  Not after everythin'…Not after…" She stopped, unable to say the words, her throat contracted, sudden tears were in her eyes just as they were in his.

            "Rogue, listen to yourself.  You're not makin' any sense." He paused, turned to her, held her by the sleeves of her sweater, held onto her eyes. "Rogue, tell me what you want."

            "Ah don't _know!" she cried, shaking her head. "Ah just want you to stay with us!"_

            "Do you think I could, Rogue?" he answered sadly, evenly. "D'you t'ink I could bear it, stayin' here wit' you in another man's bed?  Watchin' you an' him together, day in an' day out?"

            She stared up at him, tears mingling with the rainwater on her cheeks, and he resisted the urge to fold his arms about her and hold her to him, to touch that face in all its beauty.

            "We had _somethin'," she whispered. "How can you pretend there's nothin' there, not even friendship?"_

            "I can't pretend," he returned simply. "An' dats' why I can't stay.  You don't belong t' no one, Rogue.  Least of all t' me.  You…you were never mine t' begin with." He paused, forcing down the sudden knot in his throat. "Dat's why I can let you go now, chere.  Dat's why I can let you free t' be wit' Joe.  Don't waste what he's givin' you.  You _know it's more den I could ever give."_

            He turned away, letting go of her, walking, aimless.  All that mattered was the outside, the unwalked, the unknown.  The only thing he remembered having once known was her, her body, her love.  And if he held onto that now, then it would kill him.  There was more to life than love.  More to life than his friends, than the X-Men.  More to life than Rogue.

            He just didn't know, as he walked away from her, if it would ever be as precious.

*

            Rouge trailed back inside, a confusion, a numbness inside her.  She did not know how long she had stayed out on the driveway after he had left, but there had seemed no substance, no continuity from the moment that he turned from her to the moment that she herself trudged back towards the mansion.  Her sense of displacement was great.  She could and couldn't understand any of it.  Her heart ached, but it did not pain her.  Her mind was caught in a maelstrom, and she, alone, stood in the calm center at the eye of the storm. He had asked her one thing – 'tell me what you want' – and she hadn't known.  She still didn't know.  The only thing she had felt certain of was that he should not walk away, that he should not leave.  Her, or the X-Men?  That was the thing that troubled her.

            She returned to her room, lay on her bed, embryo-formed, hugging her favourite teddy tight in her arms.  There was nothing, just bewilderment.  It was not wrong to say that she cared for him.  Just how much, she did not know anymore.

            "Rogue?" It was Joseph's voice, soft, tender, over her shoulder. "Rogue?  Are you…crying?"

            "No," she answered shortly.  She did not want to turn round and face him, not just yet.

            "Rogue," he began again slowly, realising that for now she needed to be alone. "I'm sorry this had to happen.  Truly.  And if you feel at all that you've…changed your mind…Then please tell me, won't you?  Please, don't cry for him."

            "Ah'm not crying, Joe," she repeated, turning to face him, her face and eyes dry, but pale. "Ah'm just feelin'…numb inside.  So much has happened…"

            "I know," he answered, stroking her cheek with a soothing touch. "You need to be alone for a while.  But Rogue?  I love you.  You know I do."

            "I know, Joe," she returned quietly.  He smiled at her, stood upright.

            "I'll leave you now."

            He slipped away, closing the door to the bedroom softly behind him.

            Rogue turned, clutched the bear tight.  She couldn't bear it.  She couldn't bear what she had done, nor could she bear his words, neither of their words.  How could she have admitted to Remy that she had hid behind the bathroom door and listened to every word that he had said?  That she had thought that he would fight with every last ounce of strength in his body to win her back, that he would move heaven and earth to hold her in his arms again once more, and thus prove his love to her?

            He had not.  Somehow, some understanding had passed between him and Joseph – he had surrendered, given up, walked away.  The strangeness of his words haunted her.  Why abandon every claim he had had on her?  Why?

            That numbness again, tainted by fear.  What should _she have done?  Run out, run after him, throw her arms about him, kiss him and tell him she wanted him back?  __Did she want him anymore? __Tell me what you want.  She wanted Joseph.  And she wanted him._

            Then and only then did the warm tears spill from her eyes, and the numbness inside her was broken.

*


End file.
